


Two and A Half Men (On Hiatus)

by Blackbird_Wings



Series: Stars Fall [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel deals with PTSD, De-aged! Castiel, Fledgling Castiel, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Some violence against children
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-19 00:09:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2367023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbird_Wings/pseuds/Blackbird_Wings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester's life has never been easy. But with the Apocalypse over, Raphael on hold, and Heaven leaving him alone for once, life's pretty damn peachy at the moment. But when a certain archangel makes a house call sporting a small child with familiar dark wings...Well, like he said, his life is never easy...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You've Got To Be Joking

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my sequel to The Stars Fall Like Feathers. You don't need to have read that to get the plot for this story, but it will make a lot more sense if you do. There're also an awful lot of spoilers for TSFLF if you do decide to read this first.
> 
> Unlike TSFLF, I haven't finished this story before I've started posting, but I'm aiming to add up a new chapter every week on Saturdays.

Dean Winchester's life isn't always what you'd call easy.

Or fair.

Or good for personal well-being… Or mental stability. Or hygiene.

Okay. Dean Winchester's life has been pretty shitty, specifically the last forty three years or so, give or take a few months either side. But, what the hell, right?

Right now, the apocalypse is firmly off the table. Raphael's locked in a Purgatory time-out and Gabriel is, shockingly, managing to keep Heaven somewhat off of their case.

For a Winchester, that's damn close to paradise. The irony of using that word after the last bout with Raphael is not lost on the hunter either, thank you very much.

Now, he knows that it won't last; he knows Raphael will break out at some point with Team Free Will right at the top of his hit list when he finally does. He knows that that whole _lightning never strikes twice_ is complete and utter crap and that lightning will strike you however many times it damn well wants and there's nothing you can do about it.

But right at the moment, he's got a beer in his hand and his brother being a first class nerd at the crappy motel table.

Life's fucking fantastic.

There's been a few rough patches since they'd managed to bunk Raphael off on the Purgatory Express back in July. The top point being Castiel occasionally flitting off to who the hell knows where for days at a time to fulfil some random side mission Gabriel sends down from on-high that apparently the Winchester's aren't invited to. He's never come back more than a little scratched up, but one day in early September, the black winged Seraph had flapped off to the Pyrenees for two days to kill something or other that was eating the local two-legged livestock, and come back wingless.

I gotta tell you, after nearly three months of seeing the guy with enormous black limbs sprouting from his shoulder blades, it's a little jarring for them to suddenly be missing. Dean had nearly killed himself with a panic induced heart-attack when the Seraph landed wingless. The flapping should have given the concealment away but there was still a moment of _Holy shit something's torn them off_.

In retrospect, the whole incident makes Dean grumble embarrassedly every time he thinks about it. He doesn't care what the hell Sam says, he is not freaking moping that the huge, black, pain in the ass wings are gone.

It's not like he liked the damn things. Damn dangerous they were; with the way they flared at the angel's emotions, giving away everything he felt when he did anything, absorbing anybody's emotions like giant empathy hovers, or making Dean sit there for _hours_ grooming the damn things back into some semblance of order because whenever the asshole seemed to zap off it always seemed like he found hurricanes to fly through and tangle his feathers. Who the hell cares if they're gone? So Sam can just shut his unnaturally large mouth, fuck you very much.

But that was near a month ago, and though Castiel is currently off on one of his flapsacades, Dean is pretty damn content with what he's got going right now.

Demons are still a bit of an issue. With Heaven on stricter lock down until Gabriel gets a better grip of the situation, (not that they know all that much, they haven't seen the asshole since a scorching Texan day in mid-August), the demons that are still left over from the apocalypse occasionally seem to go on messed up raves. It would be more dangerous if they were actually organised. As far as Team Free Will knows, Crowley and his Growley are still the top dogs down South, and apparently he doesn't care for the idiotic demons left roaming boredly around the Earth.

Having an angel with them most of the time they go to take out a small pack of them sure helps too.

But right at this very moment, fresh from a shower in mid-October, finishing off his beer and debating between watching _The Walking Dead_ or hitting the lumpy motel sack, Dean's not even that riled that the Seraph has flapped out on them again.

This time, he's been gone for four days, mumbling off something about some creature _eating_ _unfortunate appendages_ of people on some island he's never heard of in Australasia. There's an unspoken rule going between them that Dean'll text the angel something meaningless about whatever the hell they happen to be doing that night. And Castiel will send him back a photo taken on his phone from where ever he's managed to wander off to. It’d taken Dean three bottles of beer and an hour of patience to show Castiel how to take photos on his phone and the hunter's damn grateful he did. The first few had been too blurry or dim to make out much, but eventually Castiel got the hang of it and Dean has several amazing looking pictures hoarded on his phone that he'll sometimes stare at if he can't sleep.

Again, something else that Sam doesn't need to know.

Dean considers the pictures to be payment for them looking after Castiel's small rat bag of a Scottish terrier puppy. She's grown quite a bit since the Seraph first pulled her from the deep pocket of his trench coat all those months ago. She's around six months old now, beginning to fill out and no longer small enough to sit comfortably in the palm of their hands.

They had to take her to an honest to god groomers the other day because Castiel flat out refused to brush her for fear of hurting her and Sam had tried but declared her coat too long to keep tangle-free for more than a few days. Dean wasn't going near that grudge bearing rodent with a knife; so, extortionate groomers it was. And she actually kinda looks like a proper Scottie now. All elegant eyebrows, trimmed coat and long black beard.

Yeah, okay. She looks cute, whatever.

But, cute as she may be. Every time Castiel leaves she spends the whole time pining like some scorned abandoned child. Usually, Dean can get the little pest to sleep on a blanket on the floor if Castiel leaves them for the few hours when they sleep. But if he's half way around the world, she'll whine like she's being murdered until Dean lets her curl down beside him.

And no. The older Winchester doesn't find that endearing either.

But this time, Castiel's not sent his daily photo yet. It usually pings off between six and eleven, and this time it's nearly half one in the morning. No, Dean's not staying up waiting for it. Dean sent his _Man, this motel has the crappiest shower I've ever seen_ text hours ago. The angel isn't a freaking child, he can do what the hell he wants. Dean would probably forget to check his phone too if he was wading around knee deep in something that'd be quite happy to take a chunk out of his man bits.

Still, it makes the hunter wary.

Sam keeps yawning from the table, clicking aimlessly every few moments. There's nothing to research, they'd finished their case earlier and they hadn't found a new one yet to run too, though Sam has been making notes about something for the last few days when he thinks Dean hasn’t been looking. The younger Winchester does know about the photo rule, he has one of the Northern Lights from near the top end of Norway as his laptop desktop background, and Dean gets the impression that Sam is also waiting. There's no point going to sleep if he's gonna get woken up in half an hour if the damn Seraph flaps back in the middle of the night. Usually, the return doesn't wake them, but Uzziel going bat shit insane with joy will without fail. Because she's fun like that.

Growling to himself, the older Winchester swallows the rest of his beer and drags his feet through his nightly routine, or as much of one as a hunter can have. It takes up a whole four extra minutes, but there's still nothing when he checks his phone the last time before hitting the sack. If the damn angel is gonna blank him, fuck him; Dean's going to sleep and if the ass comes back in the middle of the night, the hunter will lob things at him till he leaves. Serves him right.

No, it's not childish if the objects thrown are sharp.

Sam watches him slouch his way to the slab of the day like he's _thinking things._ Dean glowers back, and the stupid calculating look his brother is sporting turns into his sour insulted owl face. God knows why. Moodily glaring back, Sam shuts his laptop, tousles the Scottie on the head, and disappears into the tiny motel bathroom.

Dean smirks into his pillow.

–

Why is it that he can never have a simple stripper dream without being bothered for something? It must be a supernatural thing. Dean Winchester's having a great time in his pitifully few hours of sleep. Let's piss him off and wake him up for something.

At least this time there isn't an angel walking around his head.

It's close to it though.

Dean drags his gritty eyes open what feels like five minutes after closing them. There's someone pounding on the door enthusiastically, beating out the tune of _Candy Store_ that Dean just about vaguely recalls from his time in school, or at least the few times he went. It's so weird that the hunter growls darkly and flips over.

Sam is mumbling something faint and unfriendly under his comforter.

The Winchesters would've been more than content to ignore the damn asshole responsible if Uzziel wasn't going quite so fucking nuts in Dean's ear; yowling puppy screeches down his eardrums like she's aiming for an impression of her owner going vessel-less. Spewing hateful content, Dean throws the comforter off, momentarily muffling the terrier's howls, and stalks up to the door with Ithuriel's angel sword in one hand and his silver loaded 45. In the other.

It's dim outside, dawn just about approaching. The unbearably loud knocking is looping into repeat with no sign of stopping.

Peering through the eye-hole, Dean's not surprised, but thoroughly unhappy, to see an archangel on his damn doorstep.

Seriously, of all the times that Dean's howled at angels to use the door, and now he can't get one to stop.

“What the hell are you doing, Gabriel!” He snaps through the door, unwilling to let him in. As if that crappy sliding chain and rusting dead lock bolt will keep the archangel out.

The hideous children's songs' beat stops abruptly. And why the hell is Gabriel even knocking?

“You've wounded me with your harsh words, Deano.” Gabriel sings back through, and Dean nearly stops unbolting the door altogether in favour of smashing his skull against it instead. “But, you're gonna wanna see this. And stop yelling, you're scaring him.”

The hunter stops dead in his tracks. “I swear to God, if you hand me another fucking dog I'll freaking skin you with my blunt ass boot buckle!”

Gabriel snorts. “My, my, Deano! You speak to the ladies with that mouth?”

Rolling his eyes, Dean finally pulls the door open, catching Sam grumpily crawling out of his bed in the corner of his eye. “Hey, some of them like it.” He snaps. It's too early for something so cheerful to be cackling in their faces. Just because Dean doesn't have anything that can kill an archangel on him, doesn't mean he won't stab the asshole anyway.

“You kinky human creep.” The archangel drawls as the door swings open. There's a smug grin on his stupid face, and Dean would be hurling insults if his eyes weren't completely locked onto the bundle of _tan_ in the asshole's arms.

Castiel's coat.

Sam sticks his bitchiest face round the edge of the door frame just as Dean brings the 45. in between the archangel's eyes. “Where is Cas?” The older Winchester snaps, very much wide awake.

His younger brother tenses behind him as the words settle in, and Gabriel shrugs uneasily. “Well, that's the thing...” He moves his arms a little, and there must have been some mojo at work before because there's no way that Dean would have missed it before. But there is small mop of dark curls poking out of the top of that bundle. The weapon goes completely slack in Dean's grip as two huge blue eyes peer back up at him over the edge of the tan fabric.

Gabriel hefts the weight in his arms, balancing the kid, because that's what the hell it is, on his hip. The concealing fabric moves with the action, and he looks far too small, dark brown hair wild and just as untamed as normal, blue eyes piercing, but strangely wary too.

It's Castiel. Dean knows it without needing to be told, he'd know it without the coat, or without Gabriel pissing him off. There's no mistaking those stupidly old blue eyes, no matter how young his vessel's face is around them.

“ _Holy crap.”_ Sam stutters quietly behind him.

Dean snarls at the archangel. “What the _hell_ did you do to him?!”

The kid flinches sharply, turning his face into his now much older brother's chest, gripping his red shirt tightly in his impossibly small hands. Gabriel's passive amusement turns into a black warning glare in a heartbeat. Dean doesn't need the spiteful look to remember not to do that again.

“I _found_ him like this.” The archangel starts impatiently, glancing around the deserted parking lot uneasily and brushing past the two stunned hunters into the room. He waits until Dean closes the door before starting again, this is hardly the safest place for such a small angel to be. “I was happy as Larry on my own personal cloud when some schmucks from some German Autobahn start chattering about some _Wunder_ and an _Engel_ in prayers. Don't get me wrong, we ignore most of them, just kinda tune it all out. Don't give me that bitchy look, Sambo; see how many _please let me win a million bucks_ you get before you start turning them off. I still wasn't gonna do anything, but Grace going haywire isn't something so easy to ignore.”

“What do you mean?” Sam adds uneasily, eyeing up the way the kid hasn't moved since Dean's shout by the door. He's a little out of his depth with this one.

Gabriel huffs tiredly, carefully bouncing the kid once to see if he'll look at him. He won't. “You kinda get a feel for a guy's Grace when he's flooding you full of it every other hour to hold you together.” He smirks dryly, Dean can't imagine that's a particularly good memory for the archangel. “So, when it goes off like a small Nuke, thousands of miles away from where you've sent it off too? You kinda notice. So, I drag myself from home to see what all the fuss is about. And find this little tyke scared out of his wits in the middle of a highway pile up.”

Dean doesn't like the way the kid won't look at him. His brain says _Cas,_ but Dean can't see a scrap of his Seraph in this small frightened child anywhere. “What, that's it?”

The archangel grins lazily. “Easy there, Wile E. Coyote, took a while to get any sense out of anyone. But some driver swears down he saw huge ass star like thing carve out an impressive hole in the local asphalt, just in time to get hit by a semi-truck. By the time everything cooled down again, there was a little kid in a pile of wreckage without a scratch on him.”

“Sounds pretty miraculous to me.” Sam agrees tiredly, not willing to ask whether or not anybody died in the pile up, he doesn't really want to hear the answer.

“So, what's _wrong_ with him?” Dean butts in angrily, he wants his angel back damnit.

Castiel flinches again. Gabriel glares daggers back.

“Nothing” The archangel growls threateningly. It takes Dean a little by surprise; between the two angels, there's been a few slips over the last months that they've known each other since Castiel was whatever the angel equivalent of _young_ is, but the Winchester wasn't expecting the archangel to act so, well, brotherly.

“Something completely scrambled his Grace. Probably tried to unravel it so completely that he'd just die. Morons probably didn't think that doing something so stupid, to one of the _Seraphim_ for Dad's sake, would probably take out an area the size of Switzerland.” Both Winchester's try not to cringe at the notion. “Course, there's nothing on Earth with that much mojo, I doubt even an archangel could swing whatever it was they were trying, it's one thing to destroy Grace, but unmaking it? That's a whole different level of hard. Castiel's Grace fought back, with all the damage it was...disarranged. It...De-aged him essentially.” The archangel sighed flatly at Dean's narrowed eyes. “I know there's a lot of complicated words in here, Bucko. But try to keep up, kid's draining me dry and I've got tracks to cover.”

“Shut your yap you little...” The Winchester trails off at the murder in Gabriel's eyes and the tightening grip on the archangel's shirt. “Can you fix him?” He growls out instead.

Sneering, the archangel taps the tiny angel on the head gently. “I tried. You may or may not have forgotten, Tweedledee. But this archangel is flying at half-mast. I need to find the thing that did this to him. But I can't bring him with me; I may not have ever been nominated for Brother Of The Year Award, but I'm not dragging him into Demon holes either.”

“Oh no! We are not angelic baby sitters! We are not looking after some de-powered little piece of demon bait!” Even Dean's ashamed of the words as they fly out of his mouth. But that's responsibility he doesn't want or need on his shoulders.

He genuinely fears for his life at the way that Gabriel tenses as his little brother sniffles quietly. The lights flicker dangerously. He can feel Sam's ultimate _DEAN_ Bitchface burning into the side of his head.

Gabriel has to look down for half a second before he can scoff rather than kill. “You poor, disillusioned insect. You think dear little Cassie here is powerless?” He barks out a sarcastic laugh, it rattles every single one of Dean's nerves. “Bucko, this fledgling is still more powerful than most of the things you've ever hunted. He's been made into a _fledgling_ , not turned into a _child_. He still has all of his abilities, he just doesn't really remember how to use them all, he's just about old enough to fly and you can be damn certain he remembers odd things from before too.”

Sam frowns in confusion, breaking in to try and cool down Gabriel's clearly fraying patience. “So, why can't you leave him in Heaven?”

Gabriel rolls his eyes in exasperation. “I swear it's like talking to the dead. There is no Heavenly nursery, remember? There _are_ no other fledglings, Raphael killed them all. Cassie here is on his own. And yeah, he's still a walking power house, but his batteries are tiny now. He needs _Grace_ to keep him healthy; he starts throwing around the power shots, he's gonna crash faster than a drunk driver, and it won't be pretty.”

Dean's scowl only deepens. He still can't see why this has to be their problem. “So, that answers the _why can't he stay in Heaven_ Question how, exactly?”

The look that floods across the archangel face is one of utter despair that he's surrounded by idiots and is half a word from smashing his head against the nearest solid surface. The motel wouldn't stand a chance. “Jeez...Look you moron. Cassie here kinda split Heaven in two back when Sam took his Swan dive. Sure, we sorted that out and shut Raphie up for now, but there was a whole chunk of the host on his side. Most of Raphie's lackeys are Earth bound in time out. Learning humility from the ground up seemed like the best option at the time. But there are still a few rogues, and none of them would pass up a chance to seek a little revenge. I'm doing my best, guys, but Heaven's not the safe haven you morons seem to think it is. Castiel is as good as dead up top.”

Sighing, Dean palms at his aching head. “So you want to stash him down here? What about needing Grace or whatever. We're not exactly lactating the stuff if you haven't noticed.”

Gabriel gives the older Winchester a thoroughly disgusted look. “Gross, kid. But sorry to break this to you. But you kinda are... in a way.”

The older hunter tenses uneasily. “What?”

Chuckling, Gabriel reaches out his free hand and points at Dean's left shoulder. “The mutt's got some too, but yours is way bigger. What? You think Castiel can brand you like that and not leave a little Grace behind?”

_Smirking dryly, the angel tilted his head again. “The animal was starved and half dead; healing animals is usually much easier than healing humans, but this one was so young and deprived that it... clung on to my Grace; much like you did.”_

_The hunter nearly swallowed part of the wrapper he had been tearing off with his teeth. “I, what!?”_

_When Castiel answers, it's with his Why Are You Acting So Surprised? head tilt. Man, that one always irritates Dean. “When I grabbed you in Hell, it is part of the reason I branded you.”_

That's what Castiel had said, back in July. He'd always kinda wondered, but it was still jarring to hear. “Great. Now I'm hoarding angel sparkles. Fantastic.”

His younger brother hums thoughtfully. “Well, we always kinda of guessed that was why he was less worked up with you and Uzi in the room after Zephon tried to shred his wings to pieces.”

Like that makes it any better.

“The point is, Deano. Castiel needs someone to keep an eye out for him till I sort this out. And you happen to fit the bill. Believe me, I'm not thrilled about leaving my baby brother here with you two clueless schmuck buckets.”

“Thanks for that brilliant vote of confidence.” The older hunter snaps irritatedly. He's going in for another insult when Castiel finally shifts, warily peeking out at them from over the collar of his now far too big trench coat. Those clear blue eyes are wide and nervous, flitting around the room as if torn between curiosity and caution. It takes the two hunters by surprise when he finally speaks, glancing up to his older, amber eyed brother uncertainly; his voice is softer and a little higher than Jimmy's poor ruined adult voice, but the words that leave his mouth are old, harsh sounding syllables. Enochian.

Dean understands nothing of what little he says, and if things weren't already looking to be hard enough with a freakin fledgling Cas, then a damn fledgling Cas that can't speak English is way worse.

Gabriel smiles encouragingly, nodding at whatever his little brother nervously asks and responds in kind. Nodding his head in the Winchester's direction. The fledgling eyes the two hunter's inquisitively. There's a weirdly tense silence, before the young angel tilts his head, squinting up at the older Winchester in such a familiar way that Dean stops breathing. Then he simply asks “Dean?”

A tension the older Winchester didn't even know he was clinging on to floods out of him in one long breath, he smirks at the little angel in relief. “Hey, Cas.” He waits a bit, a glimmer of surprise crossing the tyke's face at the nickname, but he seems more confused a moment later as to why he was surprised at all. As if he _knew_ that's what Dean called him but didn't understand why it'd seemed strange. Guess he remembers more than the hunter thought he would. A child version of _his_ angel he could deal with, not whatever angel Castiel had been before they'd ever met.

Something about that makes Dean uneasy and guilty. He forces it down and away somewhere he doesn't have to think about it. “You remember me?” He adds a moment later. The longer he watches, the more he begins to catch the small nuances that make the Seraph up as an adult.

Squinting harder, the angel goes into full _soul staring_ mode. Honestly, Dean's damn well missed it over these last few confusing minutes. “...Sorta.” Castiel gives eventually. The slang sounds so weird coming out of him of all people. It's oddly endearing.

Gabriel's grinning like an ingenious plan is coming together perfectly. “Cassie, Darling. Big Bro has to go.”

The young Seraph glances back up nervously, grip on his older brother's shirt never faltering. He rattles out something bullet quick in Enochian with such a childish streak of panic in it that Dean feels damn annoyed at the archangel for no freaking reason. Well, more so than usual.

The demand for a translation dies on Dean's tongue when Gabriel actually goes a little white. The older angel's voice is gentle when he answers, but clearly rattled by his baby brother's panic.

Dean wonders if this is what the people who they often get stuck protecting on hunts must feel like whenever he and his brother break into deep supernatural talk without explaining anything.

It's really fucking annoying, if nothing else.

But he's never actually seen the archangel stunned so speechless before and doesn't think it worth the risk to his life to press the issue further.

“Come on, Castiel. Do this for me?” Gabriel breaks back out into language understood by the other lower creatures unfortunate enough to be in the room. Castiel is clearly unhappy about something, and Dean doesn't think it's at being given over like an unwanted present.

The fledgling screws his eyes shut, conflicted, and buries his head against his brother's chest instead. “Fine.” He whines out quietly, not sounding at all like it's fine.

Gabriel though grins hugely, ruffling his brother's hair eagerly. “There's my favourite baby bro. Come on, Kiddo, no water works. Honestly, I'd forgotten how clingy you were.” He mutters half a moment later, prying the reluctant fledgling from his chest like an unwilling limpet.

For half a terrifying moment, Dean thought the archangel was going to give the child to him. And this even though this is supposedly Cas, he still doesn't quite know what the hell he's supposed to be doing about this. Sam looks ill with the thought of looking after a kid. The younger Winchester never has been all that good with children.

Carefully setting the Seraph down, the fledgling hugs his huge tan coat around his shoulders and against his chest like a life line. Gabriel drops a dark blue duffel next to Sam's laptop on the rickety motel table that he hadn't walked in the room with. Dean can't get over how small the angel is. Gabriel has somehow managed to get the kid into some dark jeans and a black T-shirt, he has no idea where the black suit has gone, but he barely comes up to Dean's hip, little toes curling nervously into the old, faded motel carpet.

Uzziel comes bounding over instantly, leaping around the fledgling's feet like she usually seems to whenever the angel disappears for several days. She howls and licks like she always does, and there's absolutely no doubt that she knows exactly who this little replica actually is. Castiel's eyes go huge as the puppy comes tearing over, clearly bigger than he remembers, if he remembers at all. Then he seems to relax, a small half smile breaking out as she dances around him eagerly, stroking her gingerly when she stands still long enough for it.

Something in Dean thaws. The solid wall that he's been stacking up against letting Gabriel leave this stranger in their midst crumbling to dust in seconds. This was _Castiel_. He looks ridiculously adorable several feet too short and way too many years too young. But he's here and vulnerable and needs Dean to watch his back, even if he doesn't really remember why.

Why the hell was this even a problem?

Smirking, Dean kneels down to Castiel's height, which will never not be funny, and carefully settles himself down. He is hyper aware of the very cautious staring coming from Gabriel's corner of the room. “So, Cas. You gonna be staying with us a while, huh?”

The fledgling's smile had gone with moment Dean had taken the first move forwards. He cautiously stares at his older brother for a few moments, before watching the hunter warily and nodding. Shy was something Dean had no problem believing that Castiel had ever been as a kid.

“Great.” The hunter answers anyway, this isn't his first time riding the child coaxing train. “So, can you tell me what you remember?”

Castiel seems to fight off a scowl, not appreciating the patronising attitude. Which is freaking great. That means there's some of his Cas floating around in those memories, this isn't just some random child.

Dean doesn't grasp the depth to which his overly cheerful attitude that he usually uses with children has offended the angel. Castiel puffs like an insulted peacock, the large coat wrapped around his shoulders and hugged to his chest shifts, familiar black wings flaring out and upwards; the Seraph shoots out his hand to the dumbstruck Winchester's left shoulder and glowers. “I'm 'n angel, you Assbutt, not a _child_.”

“Jesus, Cas!”

Gabriel breaks into a cackle, choking out a vague “ _Laters.”_ And flaps off.

Asshole. Dean is like ninety nine percent sure he never agreed to this...

–


	2. Give Me Your Name, And I'll Give You Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a balance point between dealing with Castiel's lingering adult emotions, and those of his young counterpart...Dean just needs to find it.

For all that Dean's capable of dealing with children, he's never actually had to look after one other than Sam for a long period of time; honestly, if this was anyone else, he wouldn't have a damn clue what to do next.

Luckily, the miniaturised angel yawns a few moments after his little affronted scene. The hunter's still cursing the archangel under his breath when he stands back up, ignoring Sam's stupidly smirking face. The black wings he's so used to are now barely a little longer than Sam's legs, the tips just brushing along the ground. Apparently angel wings grow faster than their vessels do, who would have guessed?

Castiel doesn't pay the hunters any mind for a few moments, glancing down at his terrier which now comes up much further past his shins than she used to, and takes to searching around the room. He nearly trips over his tan coat twice, but when Dean goes to take it from him to sling over the back of the crappy motel chair, the Seraph backs away nervously, wings flaring out and squinting worriedly. After the uneasy moment passes, but the hunter seriously starts wondering how much the angel actually knows about them. Gabriel's right, Castiel even as a kid probably has enough strength to kick Dean's ass, and if the Winchesters are practical strangers, the angel might freak out at anything.

The fledgling carries on his search, though he never seems to turn his back completely to either brother, and that worries Dean even more. Eventually, the tiny angel spots what he's looking for; Sam's duffel bag.

The younger Winchester takes a step forwards, worried that the small child will get his hands on the curved blade loose on top, though he's not exactly sure if he's worried for their sake or the angel's. The small hands grab what he's after and jumps away before the younger Winchester can reach him, and surprisingly, he ducks behind Dean’s knees, peering uneasily up at the giant hunter.

Sam raises his hands, picks up his duffel and sits on his bed, very much aware of how much he's towering over the small fledgling. Hesitatingly, the angel gestures to the small terrier and she comes bolting over to scoff up the dog treat he'd sequestered from Sam's bag.

Dean sighs in relief. It's a ritual of Castiel's, whenever he'd return from being away for several days, he'd always give the stupid rat her biscuit. Sometimes before even saying hello, putting out the brothers who often had to watch from the side lines.

So, he remembers that, at least.

“Come on, Cas. I was serious before, how much do you remember about us?” Dean asks, carefully using his normal tone, the fledgling peers up at him uneasily, as if waiting for the Winchester to attempt another grab of his stupid coat.

Castiel tilts his head, wings retracting back to their usual position from where they'd twitched out in surprise. He frowns, little hands nervously playing with the frayed edges of his coats’ lapels. “...Hell.” He mumbles quietly, huddling up close to the terrier's side and away from the hunters like he thinks he's going to get screamed at for just saying the word.

Dean's heart stops for a moment, sharing a shocked look with his little brother. That's the first thing the angel's memory calls forth at the thought of them? No wonder the tyke seems frightened of having them too close. “Easy, little guy. We're not gonna get mad, this isn't your fault. Just tell us what you know.”

The fledgling hesitates again, Uzziel whines into his hands. He shakes his head like he doesn't believe the hunter. “But...I lost my phone.” He shoots out quietly, wings drawing close around his sides like a shield. Dean's seen the same action enough times in fights to know it's an instinctual defence, he never thought he'd be the cause of it.

Then he stops completely. Because, wait. What?

“Your phone?” Sam asks in confusion.

The older Winchester palms at his face, sitting opposite the fledgling while giving him enough distance so as not to freak him out again. “When you were off by yourself today?” The angel nods miserably. “You think we're mad 'cause you didn't send a picture?” Another nod. Dean sighs tiredly, it's too early in the morning for this crap. “Cas, we're not mad because of a stupid phone. I was gonna get you a better one soon anyway.” If only so Dean could get higher quality pictures out of him, not that this tiny fledgling needs to know that.

The gaps between the dark wings widens a little as the Seraph peeks out tentatively.

Encouraged, the hunter pushes on. “So you remember that, yeah? And you remember Uzziel, so what can't you remember?” He realises that’s a rather stupid question, but thankfully the fledgling seems to get his meaning.

Screwing his face up with thought, the angel pulls his wings away. “Shards...” He says slowly, like he's not sure that's the right phrase. “Bits are missing. Like...words, and where we are, why Gabriel's not well, and why Annael won't answer me.”

The hunters tense visibly, the angel shrinks away.

Growling to himself, Dean struggles how to phrase it without sounding like a dick. “Annael?” He asks instead. Playing the dumb card.

Relaxing a little, the fledgling nods in confusion. “Annael” He confirms.

Sam sucks in a sharp breath behind them. “Wait, Anna?”

Dean cringes harshly. _Shit_. It's one thing for the angel not to remember everything about them, though it sounds like they're not missing too much, but it's quite another for him not to understand half of his family is dead. “Er... Gabriel had a run in with a bunch of demons a while back.” He strains to answer, trying to buy himself some more time. The way Castiel's eyes widen worriedly has him kicking himself with the poor choice of topic, “but you helped him out and he's nearly fine now.”

The little angel's eyes narrow doubtfully. “Annael.” He insists.

Dean grits his teeth. The brat would be as stubborn as his older self. “Listen, Cas. Some of your family...they don't exactly...like us at the moment.” Stumbling blindly, he hopes to hell Sam comes up with something better than what he's got.

Sam doesn't have anything.

The narrowed blue eyes turn suspicious and damn, that's what Dean's trying to avoid. Castiel must have heard some of what Gabriel had said, unless there'd been more mojo at work there too. “It's not safe to be calling for them. There're a lot of demons roaming around.”

“Demons are no match for my sister.” The fledgling puffs up in offence again. Dean's a little worried by how much the angel's pushing this.

Desperate, the Winchester reaches out for the tiny fledgling's shoulder, he freezes under the large hand, but doesn't freak out. Confusion colours his face the same way it had when Dean had called him by his nickname; like he's surprised that he doesn't mind the hunter touching him. It's exactly what the hunter was hoping for. “Castiel. You're gonna have to trust us. It's not safe to call on the other angels, Gabriel brought you down here for a reason. I know you don't remember and it's freaking you out, but we're not gonna let anything happen to you, okay?”

A battle rages behind those piercing blue eyes, muscle memory experience warring with familial instinct. In a move that completely stuns the hunter, the fledgling's lip starts to tremble, bright eyes filling up with tears. Dean's never seen Castiel cry in his life. “But, I want to go _home._ ”

Utterly blindsided with the stirring of his deeply ingrained _Sammy_ instinct; Dean doesn't even think, just picks the fledgling up. The supernatural creature burrows into his chest just like Sam used to when he was small and upset, and the hunter swears across the four dimensions that death will follow whatever tries to hurt the young angel. The sheer depth of the feeling startles the hunter. “I know, Cas.” Christ, really, that's all Castiel's wanted to do for a long time now. The small hands grip his shirt tightly, the wings fluffed up and tensely tucked to his back. “But, we just have to wait for Gabe to break this curse, then you can go home, deal?”

The tiny creature trembles for a few seconds. Dean can't keep thinking of this fledgling as his stoic Seraph. Because he's simply not. He's still powerful and a bit of a dick, but he doesn't have the conditioned lock down on any of his emotions like he used to. And that's not his fault. All he is at the moment is a frightened fledgling that's being kicked out of Heaven ( _for his own good_ or so Gabriel seems to think), he's lost his family and been burdened with memories he's too young to handle, while losing some of the ones he needs the most.

Sniffling quietly, the small angel nods sadly. “Deal.” Dean is not a soft man, but his heart in that moment feels like its five sizes too large for his ribcage. Sighing tiredly, the hunter absently runs his palm down the ethereal pinions of the angel's right wing, newly re-manifested with whatever curse has fledgling-ified him. The Seraph freezes into stone.

Dean'd forgotten that wing touches might not be as such a small thing for this version of his angel if he's missing a few of his memories.

It's too late to pretend it hasn't happened. Concentrating on reassurance, the hunter repeats the motion, absently taking in the softer quality of the oily plumage than that of his older angelic self. He hopes that they still work as the empathy hovers they are as an adult.

It takes a tense moment, but eventually the small child relaxes in his arms, the trembling easing away; the small sniffs stop. Dean fights not to breathe out an explosive sigh of relief. Man, that's going to come in handy. A few minutes later, and the fledgling is completely asleep, resting against the hunter in one of the boldest forms of trust that this hunter has seen for a very long time.

Castiel may not remember everything about them. But, what his sharp mind is missing, he seems to be making up for with instinctual responses. Down in the centre of Castiel's Grace, under the damage of this transformation, the Seraph _knows_ these two human boys, he trusts them with his life. And that is all that he needs to feel to allow himself such an open vulnerability.

“Sleeping?” Sam asks suddenly from Dean's shoulder. There's a scrunch to his face that proclaims _I am confused, intrigued and wary all at the same time._

The older brother shrugs as gently as he can, careful not to jostle the small fledgling enough to wake him. He's still a little caught up on the small head resting against his collarbone. “I guess. Gabriel said he needed Grace to keep going, yeah? Cas always sleeps when he goes all radioactive for too long.”

That doesn't ease the troubled look on Sam's face in the slightest. Dean gives up. It's like, too early O' Clock, damnit. He takes half a moment to carefully scoop up one useless black rat and dump it on the foot of his bed, before he walks around to the side of his mattress. Despite Dean's genuine best efforts, he had well and truly lost the battle to not let Uzi sleep on the beds. For once, the hunter wasn't going to complain, Uzi seems to be one of the most stable memories of his midget Seraph, maybe her being around will help him settle down.

“We really gonna do this, Dean?” Flicking off the light, Sam crawls back into his own bed. There are not many things in the world that can make Sam Winchester sound so daunted.

“I would say he'd do the same for us.” Dean drawls lowly, carefully prying the suctioned fledgling from his chest and setting him down on the other side of the queen, before crawling in himself. “But, I can't see Cas and children mixing all that well. Christ, man. He'd probably try and feed us raw cabbage like freaking gerbils.”

 His brother snorts in the darkness.

Uzziel bounds up the comforter, eagerly snuggling down against the miniature angel's chest. The fledgling stirs, curling around the small pet, one fluffy black wing rising up and over them both like an extra blanket. It's freaking adorable.

Dean has a mighty need to kill something and regain some of his hard earned manliness.

It'll have to wait until morning.

“We spat in the apocalypse in the face, Sammy. We can look after Cas-on-angelic-training-wheels for a few days.”

–

As it turns out, the new blue duffel dumped on Sam's carefully organised pile of nerdy crap, had been a sort of bare bones morning supplies type deal. Dean is not jealous of the pair of impossibly small black and golden striped sneakers that light up when walked in. Not even a freaking little bit.

There's another pair of jeans and a deep blue shirt too, complete with slits in the back. The older Winchester doesn't notice the printed text on the front until the small angel has finally got it on around his wings. Dean's cackling draws an angry bang on the wall from their asshole neighbour when he catches sight of _I'm not little, I'm concentrated awesome_ scrawled over the front _._

Sam has the distinct impression that this day is going to involve an awful lot of sighing.

There's a lone set of sleepwear as well, a pair of red plaid sweats with small black Scotties dotted up the legs and a loose, slit-backed black shirt. Gold stitching catches the older hunter's eye before he digs any deeper, there's elegant script curling across the right sleeve like angelic calligraphy. It's not that big, spreading out into an elegant pattern a little across the chest and down the right side. Dean's seen enough Enochian, heck he's even had Castiel teach him a couple words (he was pretty drunk at the time), to recognise the language. But he has no idea what it says.

It's a surprisingly...nice thing for the archangel to gift his little brother. Scoffing, he bunches it up next to the stuff Castiel had slept in the night before and digs on, the golden words dismissed for a bad pun he can't decipher. There's not much else, Dean'd half expected to pull Jimmy's old suit out of the stupid thing, but it's nowhere to be found. Shrugging, the hunter's fingers fall on something cool and round, like a tiny snow

Globe without the base.

Curiously, he tugs it out into the light.

It's a small, round glass ball. Completely see through and untarnished by scratches, when he moves his hands to look at it more closely, his fingers leave no prints on the cool glass. Dean has absolutely no idea what it is.

Scrap that. It's a stupid giant marble.

Sam shrugs beside him, like he's had his fill of weirdness for the day and he hasn't even left the motel room yet for breakfast; he wants nothing to do with the strange crystal ball wannabe.

Castiel's sharp blue eyes light up, he's quick to make grabby hands for it. Dean's so stumped that he merely hands the stupid thing over, it shines the second the small hands grasp it, a dim white glow lighting up the small fledgling's face. The Seraph frowns and the white glow shines out blue instead, brightening until there are small freckles of blue light scattering the wall like there's a giant disco ball somewhere that they can't see.

Uzziel springs around their feet, chasing the mesmerising specks like she was born part cat.

It's... pretty.

God, Dean will never be the same again.

It shuts off a few seconds later, Castiel placing the fragile looking thing carefully on his sequestered pillow on Dean's bed, watching it for a few seconds after putting it down to make certain it won't roll off, before he turns to calm Uzzi.

The brothers share a thoroughly confused glance.

Sam shrugs loosely. “Do angels even _have_ toys?”

Dean shoves all of the rest of the stuff back in the new duffel bag. “Who the hell knows? Wish we could've gotten one of those for you, would've shut you up for hours.” He jibes lightly.

Scowling, his little brother chucks a protection charm at his face. “Jerk.”

–

Sam declares there to be a great need for research.

He then declares there's another great need for Castiel to get more clothes.

Then he sends a meaningful look at Dean, and then sends one to the door.

Leaving the nerd to his weird book fetish, the older Winchester has a small argument with the fledgling about his trench coat, because it's going to be hard enough to hide the wings, let alone drag along a six foot guy's tatty trench coat around. He promptly loses said argument and has to make do.

At least they agree that Uzziel should stay in the motel.

The wings are a real issue. And eventually, the hunter has to simplify. The trench coat, irritatingly, turns out to be the solution; unfurling it and wrapping it around the fledgling's shoulders, the wings are smothered by the heavy fabric. It takes some practice, but eventually the hunter coaxes the angel to keep the supernatural limbs tucked down as close to his back as he can manage.

The Seraph seems tremendously put upon, but, Dean supposes in the end, he wouldn't really be Castiel if he didn't.

The fledgling is confused, but handles the indignity freakishly well, grumpy pouts aside.

He squeaks when the hunter picks him up, taken by surprise and the lamp closest to Sam's bed flickers half-heartedly on. Huh? Okay, Dean takes a wild guess that making Castiel jump is not going to end well for anyone involved. Or even anyone unfortunate enough to be in the neighbouring states.

The hunter hopes that's only a mental exaggeration.

“If any of those pages are sticky or snap next time I touch them, Sammy...” Dean growls playfully as he darts out of the motel room, slamming the door behind him. The sound of Sam's boot smacking against the frame has the older Winchester snorting and the small fledgling hanging on to his collar looking confused.

The fledgling's eyes go huge at the sight of the lot. Dean's not quite sure what's so enthralling about the pot holes and dying grass along the road verge of the so called _Highlight Motel_. “What's up, Cas?”

The Seraph glances up. There's a chill in the air, October air feeling blustery and unpleasant no matter how many layers you put on. It's going to be a bad winter this year, Dean can feel it in his bones. Surprisingly, the young angel shivers; guess sleep isn't the only thing that's changed. “It's...beautiful.” He mumbles, sounding a little awestruck.

It's bewildering. “Dude, you're an _angel_. I've been upstairs, man. This is nothing.”

The fledgling keeps looking around like he's afraid it'll all disappear. But Dean's words draw a tilt to his head, and the small angel gives him a strange fleeting glance of confusion. “My Father made this, Dean. Humans are enchanting.”

The hunter struggles not to roll his eyes. Trust Castiel to use the word _enchanting. “_ Trust me, man. Our charm will wear off, I'm sure.” The Impala is still waiting faithfully outside their room window; the closer Dean gets to her, the tenser the angel gets.

By the time that Dean's gotten the keys out of his pocket, reaching for the lock, the fledgling is full on squirming. “Can't we _walk_ , Dean?”

The hunter snorts absently. “Cas, the closest town is an hours _drive_ away.” Unlocking the door and sliding into the seat, he carefully deposits his surprising charge beside him and buckles him in. The angel looks a bit young to be riding up front, Dean wonders whether or not they need a car seat. God, what's the chance there's going to be an argument about that?

The hunter has been struggling not to put an age to the miniaturised angel. Because the second he rattles off a mental number, it's just going to solidify the fact that this is actually happening. But the longer he watches the small Seraph straining to see past the dash, all tiny hands and folded wings and wide blue eyes, the harder it gets.

Christ, they are so in over their heads.

Castiel's eyes flit nervously around the tan interior of the Impala, tightening his hold on his trench coat and tugging it tightly around his shoulders like a security blanket. It only gets worse when Dean turns the engine over, the fledgling trembling in his seat.

“You okay, Cas?” Hell, Dean so does not need the angel freaking out when he's driving.

The angel jerks at his question, wide eyed and pulling the coat taught across his shoulders. Castiel's most noticeable features as an adult, when his wings are wherever he usually keeps them, are his eyes; and that hasn't changed now he's suffering some vertical challenges. It's actually a lot more prominent than before, and a frightened fledgling of the Lord looking at you like a fawn in headlights is not something that can be ignored. Despite the clear nervousness filling all that blue, the angel furrows his brow, bites his lip and nods. Swallowing away whatever it is that's worked him up.

Dean knows the Seraph doesn't like travelling in the Impala. And after the fiasco with his adult wings getting manifested back in July, the hunter can't really blame him all that much. To a young angel that's not used to humans at the best of times, a rumbling, metallic, distinctly inorganic machine must be pretty unnerving. “Cas. It's okay to be wary, man. But, Baby's not gonna bite, and we really need to get to town. If you want me to stop, just say, it's not a big deal to take a break.” Which is close to what he'd told an adult Castiel not that long ago either. The Seraph nods again, like he's not sure he appreciates the hunter's implication that he's frightened.

Dean's not terribly convinced. He makes the first turn onto the deserted highway _very_ carefully.

Castiel's knuckles turn white.

It's a long drive to civilisation.

–

There had been a faint hope in the back of Dean's mind throughout the quiet drive that maybe the fledgling would relax after the novelty wore off.

It didn't.

By the time the hunter is pulling up into the nearest Walmart lot, his young Seraph is looking a fair few shades paler than he had when they'd left the _Highlight._ Maybe this whole anti-Impala campaign is more serious than Dean had thought. It's not good news in the slightest. They're going to be travelling around a lot for the next few weeks. Sam seems to be hoarding printouts of the local weather patterns, which is an early warning sign to the older Winchester that he's noticed something's off and is building a case to present to his older brother.

Dean really fucking hates cases like those. Because the only two things that ever seems to cause them are either demons, or angels.

They need neither of those things on their asses with Castiel walking around looking like a five year old.

Damnit. There goes that stupid number. Oh look, there also goes Dean's last remaining hope that this was just a really long, really weird dream.

Sighing to himself, the hunter unbuckles the white-knuckled angel. He nearly smacks his head on the door frame in surprise as Castiel springs at him like the freaking deer he'd spent the journey looking like; he's out through the drivers’ side door before Dean can blink and there's a fucking frightening moment of the hunter thinking that the mini angel has unintentionally zapped away. Which hello, would be a nightmare; a small fledgling flapping off to the mid Antarctic would be super hard to explain to a raging sweet-toothed archangel.

The hunter pirouettes on the spot like a fucking five star ballet dancer, catching sight of the trembling supernatural child a couple of metres away from the car. It's lucky there is an empty space beside the Impala otherwise the angel would have full on head-butted a minivan or something. Dean gets the distinct impression the angel would've won.

The breath of relief that floods out of the hunter is enormous. “Jeez, man. You're sheering years off my life already.”

Huffing, the fledgling seems to calm down a bit now that he's no longer in the big metal box. The tan coat is all tangled up around his feet, and Dean has to pick him up to undo the knot again. The angel still manages to look grossly offended with the hunter's commentary. “I brought you back to life, Dean. You sheered your own years.” He snaps peevishly. His blue eyes turn vaguely uncertain even as Dean frowns, like he's surprised he said that. “At least, I think...”

Bouncing the kid on his hip, Dean takes pity and shrugs. “Yeah, it happened. Memories still not all there?”

Scrunching up his face, the fledgling sighs softly and doesn't answer; one small hand comes out of his tan cocoon to grip the collar of Dean green jacket. The rate at which his expression changes from irritated to sad catches the Winchester off-guard. _Kid emotions...right._ It's easy to forget when the pint sized tyke is sassing him. “Cheer up, little guy. We'll sort it out later.”

Dean rejects the idea of one of those kiddie-seat deep set shopping carts immediately, Castiel's wings probably wouldn't fit and he can't imagine the wary fledgling would take kindly to being stuck in another rattling metal box so close to escaping the first one.

The hunter crosses the threshold, dodging around a walrus like dude with a cart so piled high with beer boxes that the cart is screaming with the strain on it's wheels. If nothing else, it draws Castiel out of the shell he was retreating into like an old hermit crab.

The small fledgling's eyes go like saucers as they hit the main foyer of the enormous building. It's busier than Dean hoped it'd be, but it could be worse. The angel's eyes flit around the room like lasers, soaking up the tens of racks and aisles and thousands and thousands of products lining the tall shelves. He jumps a little in Dean's arms as another squeaking cart rolls passed, this one stuffed with a rather worrying amount of carrots and whiskey bottles. Well, each to their own.

“ _...Dean._ ” The Seraph breathes softly, awed at the sheer level of movement within the oversized store. Even as an adult, Castiel has never been inside a Walmart, well, not with Dean anyhow. Honestly the hunter had thought that scenario would be either a disaster waiting to happen, or something that would suck up their entire day, because, no matter how old, Castiel is an innately curious angel.

It shows through now, the small Seraph struggling to take in everything at once. Dean hasn't even got passed a metre in front of the entrance yet.

At least he doesn't look so heartbreakingly crushed anymore. If Castiel turned around right now and hit him with those watery baby blues again and asked for the keys to the Impala, Dean's not entirely sure he'd be able to say no.

Grabbing one of the shallow carts, he one handedly zigzags the crowds and heads over to the quieter clothes section. Whereby a problem arises; Dean can't hold three things at once. Gritting his teeth, the Winchester warily kneels down to the crappy, scuffed floor. Gently dropping the fledgling onto his feet, Dean carefully tugs at the tan coat until he's certain that there aren't any black feathers peeking out. The wings are two bumps on his back, and no amount of coat is going to hide that, but if you didn't really think to look all that hard, you wouldn't really be interested enough to wonder why anyway. It's the best that Dean can do.

“Don't wander off, okay? And don't let anyone see the wings either.”

If anything, Castiel looks freaked out being all the way down on the floor again, and with Dean's warning, the angel's eyes dart up and down the aisles like there's something behind them that could be hunting them.

Curiosity is a powerful motivator though, and after a few minutes of clinging on to Dean's jeans with one hand, the colourful rows of random crap at the end of the aisle seem to be too enticing to resist. The little hand lets go and once Dean's made sure he's not wandering off to who the hell knows where, the hunter turns back to the rails and rails of clothes.

His plan had been to just have the angel pick what he wants, but all things considered, Castiel probably won't really know what he wants. It's caused a few headaches with his older counterpart in various stores across the country, and the hunter figures after a few minutes of debate that he'll grab a bunch of stuff and let the Seraph chuck out what he doesn't want before they hit the tills.

–

He knows it’s been a few years, but Dean’s damn surprised that he’s forgotten just how damn expensive children are.

Good thing he just redid the credit cards again.

The hunter had checked the stuff the kid was wearing yesterday for what sizes to get back at the motel this morning. But he forgot to check his shoe size and he doesn't think _Freaking Tiny_ is accurate enough to be buying shoes with.

Well, the sneakers that damn archangel gave him will have to do. Cart full, he turns on the spot, scanning the aisle up and down for the angelic rugrat; hoping the little, unnecessarily awesome, lights on the soles of his shoes will make the fledgling easier to spot.

They don’t. He’s just, gone.

 _Shitshitshit_.

Please Christ, let him have just wandered off. That's so much better than demons, or angels, or witches, or, or overly ambitious Strigas, or...crap. _Crapcrapcrap._

“ _Cas!”_ He shouts. A pair of elderly ladies give him the stink eye as he races his cart around the end of the aisle like he's going for an accurate impression of his Baby's turning radius.

The older Winchester blazes up and down the clothing section until he's certain there aren't any fledglings hiding beneath any of the racks. Christ, this kid is going to put him in the ground by the end of the day.

“Cas!” He hollers again, he doesn't dare shout _Castiel_ without being able to see him. With creatures as old as Castiel, names are powerful. Anything could be crawling around this humanised death trap of a store. It's not often something sets off Dean Winchester's adrenaline quite like this.

When he _finally_ catches sight of tell-tale tan coat's tails, Dean almost puts himself in the ground, along with three other people as he nearly takes out the entire bakery bar with his forty mile an hour shopping cart. That fucking fledgling is too busy straining up to reach the middle shelf to notice the kerfuffle going on the other far end of the aisle.

By the time that Dean's untangled his now very wobbly front wheels from the pancake rack, Castiel has given up reaching and has climbed up onto the first shelf and is brushing fingertips against something in some obnoxiously yellow cardboard box. The bumps against the inside of his tan coat are more noticeable than before, the angel fighting against instinct to let them spread out to balance him.

Hunters are trained to keep their cool in situations of stress.

Dean doesn't feel very much like a hunter in those few moments.

“ _Castiel!”_ He snarls blackly, wrestling his squeaking, injured cart up the aisle to the fledgling's side. The angel tilts his head at the hunter's approach, brightly eyeing the tall hunter up like he's realising that Dean can reach what he clearly can't and all is right with the world, like Dean hasn't just had the most violent coronary in history. The eagerness to see the hunter dies in his young eyes when he seems to realise just how wound up the human is.

The words just kind of flood out of the Winchester's mouth in one furious rush. “The _Hell_ , Cas?! I told you not to wander off! _Anything_ could have fucking grabbed you, man! What the hell were you thinking?!”

There's an angry tut from someone passing the aisle, but Dean doesn't need to hear it to hate himself for getting so angry.

Adult Castiel, usually, is pretty impassive when it comes to Dean's often unnecessary rage fits. And that's one of the main reasons that he has to suffer through having them aimed his way so often; because Dean knows that he'll just sit there and glare at him until the hunter's anger has all burned out and they can get back on track. And, if the hunter ever pushes the angel too far, for something that is not the Seraph's fault, Dean will often be carrying around the shiner he gets in response for the next couple of days. The angel doesn't mind being his friend's stress ball on a good day, but he's quick to remind the hunter who the hell can wipe the floor with who when it looks like the hunter needs the recap.

This fledgling is not his adult Castiel. This is not the conditioned wall of patience that Dean has spent the last three years of his life getting used to having in his tight little exclusive family circle. This small angel's eyes flood the moment Dean opens his mouth, disappearing into the cocoon of his coat like a protective shield and shying away from the imposing hunter entirely.

Scrubbing his face with his hands, the hunter sighs. Way to go, Dean.

He never would have screamed at Sam like that, knowing that just seems to make it all feel worse.

Kneeling, the hunter forces a tired smile. “Cas, I'm sorry.” The Seraph flinches when Dean reaches for him, but it’s nothing like the wary rejection the hunter expects, it’s far worse. The fledgling flinches like he expects the hunter to punch him. And that makes the Winchester freeze instantly.

Hunters see all kinds of crappy people on the job. And this Winchester knows intimately the signs of someone that's had a ‘ _rough’_ time of it at the hands of someone else. That flinch was one of them.

Holy shit. He did not expect that from his miniature Seraph. Really, Dean supposes angrily, it makes too much sense; Castiel is a warrior of God, he's been fighting for hundreds and thousands of years, he's been into Hell, he's fought against his own kind. Is it really all that surprising that after being turned into a small fledgling, that he associates that kind of anger with getting hurt?

Clenching his fists, Dean drops to sit cross-legged on the floor. Because this isn't something that can wait until they get back to the motel. “Cas? Cas, look at me, buddy.” He starts, it's the gentlest he's ever spoken to the angel, and that makes the hunter ill with regret. “Come on, little guy. I'm not angry anymore, I promise.”

There's an uneasy pause, a stern looking women with a tight bun pushing her cart past, Castiel's wet eyes hesitantly flicker up from the floor, watching the human through the small crack of his coat wall. Dean does his best to pretend he can't hear the small sniffle or see the trembling tan. “Look, Cas. I shouldn't have yelled at you, I was worried as heck man. You gotta promise me not to wander off like that again.”

Shuffling on the spot, the angel mumbles something quietly, and Dean has to spend a few moments coaxing the angel into repeating it. “I didn't wander off.” He stammers softly.

_Huh?_

It's one thing for Dean to yell, it's another for the Seraph to lie about it to his face.

“You moved.” The small voice adds, like he thinks Dean will scream at him again just for speaking.

“No I did-” _Oh_. Shit, _he did_. There were two sides to the child's section, and Dean had absently meandered round to the other side without thinking about the angel. The last he'd seen, Castiel was still staring at all the random colourful stuff at the other end. Castiel probably turned around and Dean had fucking disappeared.

“You came looking for me, huh?”

The Seraph nods uneasily. Yep, it's fact, Dean Winchester is the world's biggest asshole.

“Jeez, Cas. I forgot where you were.” He gently tugs on the coat's lapels, just enough to be playful without making the kid worry he was taking it off of him. “I shouldn't have gotten angry, and I definitely shouldn't have yelled at you. And kiddo, no matter how angry I get, I'm not going to hurt you, okay?” Taking a chance, the Winchester reaches for the fledgling again. The child hesitates, but then the tan walls come down and he lets Dean pick him up.

Wiping at his eyes, the Seraph buries his head into the hunter's neck and Dean can't physically regret yelling at the poor trembling kid any more than he already does. Clearing his throat, the hunter finally notices where they are. “What were you tryin' to get before? We're in the pets aisle, little guy.”

The shaking doesn't go away, and the tight one-handed grip on Dean's collar doesn't falter, but the other small hand reaches out and he points down to the middle shelf and the obnoxious yellow box.

It's a small bag of dog treats. The same brand as the ones that Uzziel gets given. Castiel had given her the last one in the bag the night before and Sam had offhandedly mentioned to the older Winchester this morning not to forget to pick some more of them up. Dean didn't even know they sold them in Walmart, he's only ever seen Sam get them from pet stores before now.

Oh come on, it's not possible to feel this bad about something, is it?

Picking up two packets, he goes to put them in the cart, before he changes his mind and hands them to the fledgling suctioned to his neck. “Keep hold of these for me will you, Cas? Too important to just go in the cart.”

His angel is a tough little sucker. One mention of responsibility and the fierce loyalty comes back to the surface, holding onto the two small packs like he's guarding them from Hell itself. The sadness of Dean's outburst fades into the distance of his mind.

If Dean is a bit more...doting, than he would usually be for a fledgling-ified Seraph after that for the rest of the shopping trip, then at least there's nobody else around to mention it.

\-- 


End file.
